The sepia-toned old-timey photo from last week's quiz is the first in a series of pictures shown in the title sequence of everybody's favorite alphabetically-sound outlaw couple, Bonnie and Clyde.
Sorry for the delay on this week's quiz. The Tribeca Film Festival is in full swing, and I've been busy working on the acquisition of Fish Eyes, which was just announced today. Yes, Benten Films has acquired their first Asian film, and what a film it is. A powerful, gorgeous Jia Zhang-ke-esque independent drama from newcomer Zheng Wei, who I am convinced is at the start of a long and successful career. Part of the new Beijing independent movement, Zheng's film is remarkably assured, particularly for a first film. (This certainly isn't mumblecore!) Danny Kasman wrote a nice review over at The Auteurs, and even The New York Post's V.A. Musetto had kind words.
This week -- time for them to start getting a bit more difficult. Name this iconic masterpiece that opens with a bit of 8mm film leader. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!
If it's Peter Sellers in a T and Orson Welles in an A, it's got to be Casino Royale, the 1967 James Bond spoof that I've professed my love for on several occasions on this blog. Half-a-dozen directors, a mixed-bag cast, and a nonsensical screenplay notwithstanding, this movie is pure comfort food for me. Plus, I actually find it to be genuinely funny, and it features one of the top-ten soundtracks of all time.
There was talk a few years back about Quentin Tarantino possibly directing the remake. I'll be the first to say I'm glad that never came to fruition.
Well, after an extremely disappointing first quarter, 2009 is rapidly shaping up, and in the past few days I've seen two excellent films from American auteurs, and one indie-comedy (World's Greatest Dad) that is deliciously dark. I'm technically not allowed to speak about one of the auteurist titles, but let's just say it's the latest film from a cinematic godfather. The other, Jim Jarmusch's The Limits of Control, is one of the smartest films I've seen in quite some time. What's interesting is that both filmmakers are working in a very reflective vein, openly addressing other, classic films, and the art of cinema itself. More anon.
This week -- the opening shot of a simple, but somewhat iconic credit sequence. Name it. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!
I took quite a beating over the last seven days for not being a fan of Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof, his entry in the Grindhouse double feature. I watched it again in preparation for the quiz, and I still stand by my original review. In fact, I think I liked it even less this time around. Sure, Kurt Russell gives a great performance, but the screenplay is beyond cloying. Let's just agree to disagree.
This week -- there was another film I had wanted to use, but after spending over an hour looking for the DVD (it has to be here somewhere), I decided I had to opt for something else. A shame, for I really had my heart set on it. Drats. Anyway, the consolation film is a personal favorite, though a total financial and critical flop. Name it. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!
Bernardo Bertolucci's third feature, Partner, released just months after the legendary events of May 68, finds the Italian director at his most abstract and least narrative point of his career. The Pasolini influence that informed La Commare Secca and (to a lesser extent) Before the Revolution has here been replaced by post-Masculine, Feminine Godard.
Owing more than a slight debt to 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her, Partner touches on all the hot-button topics of the day, particularly in Euro art-cinema: politics (personal, social, sexual, ideological), Vietnam, psychology, philosophy, theater, cinema, and the nature of the self. A very loose adaptation of Dostoyevsky's The Double, Partner's non-narrative structure is primarily a showcase for its star Pierre Clémenti, who plays dual roles as a theater prof and his revolutionary doppelganger/antipode, both named Giacobbe. We're never quite sure which one is the genuine item, and the film plays out like a more cerebral, less humorous Fight Club.
Watching Partner makes one appreciate Godard that much more, for though it's easy to spot the references (Le Mepris' Cinemascope and lush score, Weekend's tracking shots, 2 or 3 Things' psychology/ideology), Bertolucci lacks both the puckishness and gravitas of his French counterpart. The ideas presented throughout Partner never reach convergence, and what we're left with are a series of vignettes -- some which work, while others don't. It's kind of like a variety show for the smart set.
However, there's still much to admire about the film. The Cinemascope is gorgeous, and the Hermann-esque score by Ennio Morricone amusingly alludes to tension and a sense of foreboding that never arives. There's a quasi-comical recreation of the Odessa Steps sequence from Battleship Potemkin, and a wonderful car scene with Clémenti and Stefania Sandrelli, in which a third character is providing the engine sounds for the stationary vehicle. And then of course there's the single best line in the film, which comes during a polemic about cinema -- "Distributors have no soul." I'm on the fence about Clémenti's performance, which though certainly fearless and reminiscent of his work with Garrel, Pasolini or Cavani, veers dangerously close at times to amateur theatrics. It's fascinating to watch, but feels as if Bertolucci didn't provide enough guidance.
Bertolucci never again ventured into such experimental waters, which is a good thing, as he happens to excel at narrative, yet never at the cost of art, ideas, ideals, politics, etc. Partner makes for an interesting companion to The Dreamers, if just to see the director's two extremely different takes on the events of 1968. But on it's own, Partner doesn't come close to the brilliance of The Conformist, 1900, or even Last Tango in Paris.
However, that said, there is a sequence in the film that is not only one of Bertolucci's greatest, but quite possibly one of the best from the cinema of the 1960s as a whole, and I've shared it below. It's a spoof of crass commercialism, specifically in the marketing of laundry detergent. Clémenti and the gorgeous Tina Aumont are a loving couple driven (at first) to sexual ecstasy by their suds, all set to a bit of chamber-pop perfection by Morricone (Splash!), with vocals by Peter Boom. The change of mood and tone within three minutes is both fascinating and more than a little bit disturbing. Borderline NSFW, perhaps. Check it out. (The silence in the first ten seconds is as it is in the film.)
One of my all-time favorite opening credit sequences -- Pablo Ferro's wonderful design combined with Noel Harrison's haunting rendition of Michel Legrand's The Windmills of Your Mind - what a perfect way to set the mood for Norman Jewison's The Thomas Crown Affair, that timeless romantic thriller from 1968 that hasn't lost any of its charm or style. I like to pretend that the John McTiernan/Sting remake is just a remnant of a bad dream.
Several people asked about the alt-text clue (Don Quixote on the brain), which was simply a rather lame reference to the film's theme song. You know, tilting at windmills and such....
As some of you may have seen on my Facebook status, I had lunch with Susan Ray last week, and as a result I've been watching her late husband's films for the past few days. I just now finished The Lusty Men, which I hadn't seen in many years, and I was completely blown away by the editing. Ray tends to cut on motion, and there's a fluidity to the film that is nothing short of spine tingling. I'm hoping to find the time to write something up about it in the near future. (Why this isn't on DVD is a complete mystery...)
This week -- a film that quickly goes downhill after the credit sequence. Yeah, yeah, many love it, but....no. Sorry. Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!
1962 saw the birth of a franchise that refuses to die...Bond, James Bond. One thing that has remained fairly consisted throughout the series is the memorable opening credit sequence, which usually contains silhouetted figures dancing to the soon-to-be-famous title song. The first film in the series, Dr. No, begins with some then-progressive electronic synth sounds which eventually give way to the now-iconic Monty Norman (not John Barry) Bond theme, while colored dots fill the screen in seemingly random patterns. Then the silhouettes appear. It must have seemed pretty wild back in '62.
That just about everybody managed to get it (save for a dozen or so who guessed Une femme est une femme) has led me to make one change -- I'm going to extend the round by four weeks, making it 16 quizzes in all. (Plus, there are a lot of credit sequences I'm dying to use.)
This week -- another easy one, I'm afraid, but such a great opening it is. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!
